


Shrimp Heaven Now

by Liquid_Lyrium



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Comedy, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, a surprising amount of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: Hanzo is single-handedly trying to get them thrown out of every Red Lobster in town. McCree is just along for the ride.





	Shrimp Heaven Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youraveragejoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youraveragejoke/gifts).



> Stop. Look at this art by [YourAverageJoke](http://youraveragejoke.tumblr.com/post/177721952536/goin-out-to-red-lobster-anyways-this-is-mostly). I'll wait. Have you looked? Excellent. Proceed.

It would take a much stronger and prouder man than Jesse McCree not to whimper while trying to fuck his boyfriend through the mattress. Of course _ideally_ he’d be the _only_ one trying to fuck Hanzo through the mattress, and Jesse tossed his head with a gasp to rid himself of treacherous thoughts like _now and forever._ Or worse, _for the rest of our lives_. It was easy enough to give inconvenient thoughts like that the slip, and lose himself in the tight heat surrounding his prick. Jesse was an expert at compartmentalizing. Anything he didn’t want to think about he packed up and put away in a box entitled _Later_ which meant _Never To Be Touched Again._ That box seemed like it was getting awful crowded these days, though, and the contents threatened to spill into moments like this.

“Fuck, Han, _please.”_ He shouldn’t have been the one begging, but he was reduced to it anyway. He needed Hanzo to save him from himself, from his stupid head, and stupid thoughts. From everything he was too scared to think.

He wasn't disappointed.

His voice broke into another whimper as Hanzo clawed his back to shreds. Jesse wasn’t sure how the man could do such a thing when his nails were so short, but Hanzo never let anything stand in the way of what he wanted. The sharp flash of pain, nails, and teeth gave Jesse what he needed, pulled him away from those thoughts that were always a little too much. It let him feel for a moment like he was chasing completion rather than running from something else. And through it all Jesse felt like _he_ was the one being ruined, though he was doing his best to return the favor. That box that said _Later_ was the furthest thing from Jesse’s mind when Hanzo bit his neck and brought them both over the edge with the motion.

As they caught their breath, Jesse let his fingers trail over the ouroboros on Hanzo’s shoulder. He’d left more marks than he realized, and as he came back from the plane of oblivion his own skin suddenly throbbed and ached everywhere Hanzo had broken the skin. He liked it fine enough in the moment (and he was man enough not to complain after), but the aches made it harder to get excited about doing anything other than rolling over and curling around his boyfriend for a nap. Well, presumed boyfriend. They had never explicitly had a conversation about what they were. Exclusive fuckbuddies? Long-term date mates? In his head, at least, Jesse called Hanzo his boyfriend.

Jesse snuggled against Hanzo anyway, speaking into his shoulder, “Mm. Howzzat?”

He felt a nose brush against his temple before a kiss was placed against his sweaty hair. “Definitely _Lobsterworthy_ ,” he could feel Hanzo’s grin too, and McCree managed not to groan.

“Really? Shoot, was hopin’ it wasn’t. Rather stay in with you,” McCree burrowed deeper into Hanzo's neck.

“You just want a shot at round two.“ Hanzo placed his fingertips one by one along the bumps along Jesse’s spine. He shivered a little.

“I'm always up for seconds, you know that,” Jesse’s words were broken by a yawn, though that didn’t negate the truth of his statement.

“We're going out McCree.” The laziness lurking in McCree’s bones was disappointed, but his stomach growled in approval.

“Fine, but you're buying,” he pressed his lips against one of the bruises on Hanzo’s skin in a not-quite-kiss as an apology.

“I always do,” as if it mattered when their finances were pooled together from the same source. McCree felt the rumble of _always_ in his chest and that box marked _Later_ seemed to be precariously perched over a doorway, ready to fall on him at any moment. The cowboy pushed himself up slowly, his arms trembling just a little as he held his weight after such exertion.

“There even an establishment left that'll let us in?” McCree was almost positive they’d worn out their welcome at every Red Lobster in the city. He managed to get seated on the edge of the bed with a sigh before dragging himself over to the bathroom adjoining their small space.

“There is one.” The way Hanzo said _one_ gave him pause.

“ _Just_ one?”

“Get moving. This is my favorite part,” Hanzo was apparently already recovered, because he was up and pushing Jesse towards the sink.

“Gee darlin’ you know how to make a man feel special.” Jesse knew Han didn’t really mean it, but that little box for _Later_ wobbled just a bit at the ache in his chest.

“It _is_ fun. You have fun too, or you would not indulge me,” Hanzo threw Jesse a washcloth before he stepped into the shower stall. Jesse sighed and turned on the tap, resigning himself to a sponge bath. He wasn’t _completely_ filthy, but it was hopeless to pretend that they’d been doing anything else. He took stock of the love bites, scratches, hickeys, and bruises all over his skin. _Jesus Han…_ There was a bruise along his jaw above his beard and a collar of bites around his neck. The only thing that would make him even remotely decent to be out in public would be to spent forty minutes applying makeup, and Jesse wasn’t willing to do that. Hanzo seemed determined to set the record for the world’s shortest shower as well, and jumped out of the shower a moment later, vigorously toweling himself dry, despite his own battle scars. Jesse felt a mixture of pride and admiration watching him.

As if pulled by a magnet, he followed his boyfriend out of the bathroom. Hanzo threw a bundle of clothes at his face. McCree threw on his bootleg shirt that declared him “hashtag” _Lobsterworthy_ but had a happy looking crab underneath. He threw on some khakis and a loose plaid shirt which he wore open over the shirt with blatant intellectual property theft. He chuckled under his breath. _I guess it’s a little fun_. It felt a bit like he was a punk kid again, headed to a bar with the itch to pick a fight. He dug a light jacket out of their shared closet, a light grey asymmetrical thing Hana insisted was _cool_ , tucked between one of Hanzo’s _yukata_ and a training _gi._ It was getting to be late September, and the Atlantic Ocean winds were set to carry cool breezes over the city well into the night. McCree turned from the closet just in time to catch a glimpse of Hanzo’s abs before he pulled two layers of tee shirts over them. _You just saw them, Jesse_  tried to reason with the little sense of loss he felt at seeing the treasure trail and muscles covered up. He grabbed his lighter and a cigarette case from the top of the dresser. He threw his head back and cackled as he read Hanzo’s shirt. A timeless reference.

_When he f**k me good I take his ass to Red Lobster._

Baby pink text against black cotton. “That’s a new one. Damn sweetheart. You get that printed special?”

“Both of them,” Hanzo grinned at Jesse over his shoulder. The man grabbed an olive military-style jacket and covered the offending words. McCree huffed a soft laugh. He looked forward to whatever reveal Hanzo had planned, though he had a shrewd guess based on previous runs.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

* * *

It took them about fifteen minutes to speed across town on the hoverway to the only Red Lobster that had not ejected them and banned their return. If Hanzo had been keeping a hit list somewhere, he hadn’t shared it with McCree. That didn’t stop him from believing that this was the last one that they hadn’t crashed yet.

“So, usual MO?” Jesse ran his thumb along the edge of the cigarette case in his pocket

“I think so,” Hanzo smiled softly. “Though I do have a surprise or two up my sleeve.”

“You know I wouldn’t do this for anyone else right? Yer fuckin’ crazy,” McCree leaned down to press a kiss to Han’s cheek, desperately trying to stuff all the dangerous sentiments that nearly broke containment from the box of _Later_.

Hanzo merely smiled and hooked Jesse around the arm and tugged him towards the door that bore the proud mascot of Clawde in painstakingly applied acrylic paint. Even through his boots, McCree could feel how plush the navy blue carpet was. Scattered across the vaguely-ocean patterned carpet were diamonds of ice blue clustered in fours. It was a fairly standard Red Lobster array, though McCree did see a short staircase leading down from the right of the receiving area that seemed to lead to a (very cramped and narrow) bar. He could see the brightly lit wall with the offering of liquor backlit by tubes filled with bubbles. McCree couldn’t remember their previous Red Lobster experiences including a bar. Stupid, in his opinion, to have a dry restaurant when seafood was on the menu.

The dinner rush was dying down, but it was still fairly crowded. The hostess, a bubbly young co-ed, visibly paused as they stepped up to inquire about a table. McCree gave her a disarming, irascible grin. “Uh, for two? It’s ten minutes. If you can make space at the bar you can eat there…”

“Might order a drink, but we’d prefer a table, please and thank you.” Sure, they _could_ have eaten at the bar, but that wouldn’t line up at all for their purposes. McCree tipped his hat and started down the narrow set of stairs. He wondered briefly if they were up to code, and the railing squeaked and nearly failed under the weight of his metal hand.

He didn’t hear Hanzo behind him, hardly surprising over the mild din of accumulated conversation, top 40s music, and clatter of dishes. McCree doubted he’d have heard Hanzo if there hadn’t been another soul in the place. He could feel scant space between them, crackling with sparks which danced all along his back. Jesse was very tempted to employ method number five for getting kicked out of Red Lobster again, despite the badges from their earlier encounter aching underneath—and above—his clothing.

They managed to squeeze in a place at the bar to order drinks, between a pair of tourists even more strange than they were. McCree ended up crushed against the omnic (presumably keeping their human companion company, rather than taking in the so-called local seafood), but it wouldn’t matter once they had a table and a drink. Preferably in reverse order. McCree scanned the stand advertising the establishment’s happy hours before a menu was thrust at him. Hanzo surprised McCree by ordering a margarita by the stupid in-house name of _lobsterita._ McCree flipped through the glossy pages of the drink menu. There was a single drink on the menu with whiskey in it. A variation on a mule with cucumber juice mixed in the citrus. Some sort of fancy limited-time drink which was about three dollars more expensive than it needed to be, but McCree would definitely be trying to reverse-engineer the cocktail later in a much more cost-effective manner. If it was any good. He leaned over to steal a sip of Hano’s margarita. It was adequate, if overpriced, and he was tempted to also steal the lime wedge that served as garnish. His boyfriend scowled but he allowed the theft. McCree just grinned, and didn't even complain when his omnic neighbor managed to elbow a tender bruise on his back.

“Good start to the night babe, we should get a couple more of these sent to our table, once we got one.”

“You haven’t even tried yours yet.” Hanzo paused and glanced down towards Jesse’s elbow. McCree followed his gaze.

“What the fuck is that?” The traditional delivery method for a mule was a copper mug. This was the case here, only the copper mug was housed in a comically large plastic cup holder, as if his drink were being held in the grip of a disembodied (or dismembered) crab claw. McCree lifted his gaze to look at the bartender who only shrugged in the universal signal for ‘ _I just work here.’_ “I’m a grown-ass man, you know that right?” McCree’s complaint was made to the open air, the bartender already answering a hail at the end of the bar.

“If you do not want it, I will use it,” Hanzo smirked at McCree over the salted rim of his perfectly reasonable lobsterita. Which had not been dispensed with a clawed monstrosity as a delivery method.

“Fuck no, this is my claw. Get your own,” McCree clutched the drink to his chest protectively. He took a sip. He smacked his lips appreciatively. Ridiculous claw cozy aside, it was a damn good drink. The cucumber juice mellowed the sharpness of the lime and ginger beer. The whiskey went down smooth too. The ginger and the copper made up for the smoothness by giving its own particular kind of bite, and it sat somewhere on the bitter end of sweet.

McCree lifted a brow as Hanzo drained the rest of his margarita in a single go. _Determined to be a handful tonight I see_. McCree chuckled, taking his time with his own drink. Hanzo seemed to be taking his time with the second lobsterita he ordered, which Jesse was thankful for. (A fat tip forestalled any concerns their bartender may have had about the speed of his guest’s drinking.) This might be their last little foray into the Red Lobster franchises in this city, but there was a line somewhere that made the difference between getting arrested and being a nuisance. Tequila could blur that line right quick.

Hanzo half-jumped into Jesse, startled, and McCree silently sighed as some of his cocktail spilled onto the omnic visitor. “Sorry,” McCree muttered absently, though the omnic gave no sign that he had heard the apology or registered the infraction. Just as well. Jesse was keenly aware he was much less intimidating covered in love bites and his hair all disheveled. Or barely sheveled, as the case might be. No need to pick a fight. (Yet.) Hanzo sheepishly dug the buzzing coaster their hostess had given them from his pocket.

“It seems we are being summoned. Here…” Hanzo ordered another mule for McCree. He was highly suspicious Hanzo did it so that they could get a second claw cup for shenanigans. His suspicions were confirmed correct when Hanzo was visibly put out upon the mule’s arrival without another cozy. The buzzer was still insistently flashing and making a mild ruckus, and Hanzo evidently decided that getting seated to conquer this latest locale was more important than an additional souvenir.

He rubbed the hair above his lip, hiding a grin beneath his hand as he followed Hanzo up the flight of stairs. McCree darted his hand out, gripping Hanzo’s waist to steady him on the second stair. They made it back up and passed the buzzer back to their hostess. She guided them through the restaurant and to a wooden table with matching seats that looked like the knobby, kitchy chairs at every grandmother’s kitchen table.

McCree set his claw cozy down on the table. Hanzo set down the lobsterita and the second mule—though he did steal a sip for himself, Jesse noted. McCree hung his hat on the little carved knob that grew above the back of the chair, like a little carved lamp post. Their hostess uttered the time-worn words _someone will be with you in a moment_. The next step in the social dance. As soon as the hostess left, Hanzo peeled off his jacket and hung it carefully over the back of his chair. McCree flashed a grin at a rather scandalized looking soccer-mom in a nearby booth and mimed tipping an invisible hat at her. She urged her teenage daughter and youngest child to switch places so that the more offending shirt was not within sight.

“Your crab friend appears to be flaking off,” Hanzo threw an arm over the back of his chair, rolling the salty rim of his lobsterita along his mouth.

“Couldn’t possibly be the number of times you made me wash and wear this thing, could it?” Jesse chuckled and stirred up the ice in his mule—half of which seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. He looked around for waitstaff before meeting Hanzo’s gaze. Hanzo gave the barest nod, and Jesse dug out a cigarillo. He got a bunch of dirty looks as he lit up, but he ignored them. Filters in the bar area would take care of anything he put in the air. Mercy had admitted it to him once, when pressed about their efficacy and what studies showed about second hand smoke in the modern age. They were just clinging to old ways at this point, and it kinda pissed him off. He grinned quietly to himself as Soccer Mom got up and sped past them, out of sight for a moment as she passed behind a pillar, leaving the rest of her brood under the supervision of her eldest. Who was holding her phone mere inches from her face and ignoring the budding power struggle between two of her younger siblings at her elbow.

McCree saw Soccer Mom beeline for an omic member of the waitstaff and point in his direction. He ducked his head and hid a grin as he knocked back the rest of the mule. He stuttered out a quiet laugh as he read the woman’s wild gesticulations. “It’s about to start gettin’ good over here, hon,” he pulled a quick drag on his smoke, a sort of tightness easing underneath this skin. He hadn’t even noticed the nicotine craving sneaking up on him. Soccer Mom looked right pissed, but as she headed back towards them with the omnic she held her tongue. Barely, by the look of it. McCree tipped his invisible hat again, before switching the copper mugs so that his little claw cozy had a full cocktail again.

“Please sir, smoking is only allowed in the bar area.” The omnic tipped from side to side, a robotic approximation of shifting in place.

“This is a vape,” Jesse grinned. He sucked in another bit of smoke from the end of his cigarillo before blowing out a smoke ring that drifted up towards the ceiling with unnatural speed.

“Personal vaporizers are not allowed outside the bar area either.” Apparently the omnic was either not allowed by policy or didn’t have the programming to contradict blatant lies by customers.

“Oh, my apologies then,” Jesse gave the most insincere smile, and the omnic reached out to snatch his smoke, which disappeared behind a panel in the omnic’s palm.

“My name is ST3V-13, I will be your waiter this evening. Would you like any appetizers? Well, you have drinks, but any other beverages?”

“Sweet chili shrimp for me please,” Jesse had found out quickly that he wasn't that into lobster, and he tired of it after two rounds of their little game. He was about ninety percent sure, however, that he could eat an infinite amount of shrimp and be happy. Something about fitting several prawns into his mouth at once pleased the predator lurking deep in his lizard brain. The criminal amount of butter that went into the sauces probably helped too.

“I have everything I want right here,” Jesse felt Hanzo’s knee bump into his beneath the table. His heart surged up into his throat at the fond smile levied in his direction. He couldn’t speak. Not when the box of _Later_ was threatening to burst open. Instead, Jesse reached across the table and linked his hand with Han’s, heat searing through his cheeks. Their waitomnic left, and Hanzo refused to let his hand go. Not that he minded. He felt another bump at his ankle, this time, and he laughed just a bit too loud. Hanzo lifted a brow at him from across the table, looking smug. McCree had never backed down from a game of footsie before, so he responded in kind. Soccer Mom threw them a dirty look as they continued to be just a little too loud to be polite, and less decorous than a pair of wanted adults should be.

Jesse’s appetizer was brought out with frankly alarming speed. A dozen shrimp all but materialized in front of him, bathed in a shiny red glaze laid out on a bed of shredded lettuce. He figured they’d either sniped a plate from someone else’s order to get rid of him quicker or… Well, McCree wasn’t too fussed. He had an iron stomach and Angie back on base if anything was really wrong. He tossed a whole shrimp in his mouth, reveling in the satisfying sensation of the shrimp practically falling apart in his mouth and swallowing it down. They had definitely gotten jumped up on the priority list and been given someone else’s order of chili shrimp. It was sweet and, for the moment, the spice was deceptively mild. McCree could feel just the faintest kick in the back of his throat.

ST3V-13 remained at the end of their table, “Are you ready to order?” McCree continued to pop shrimp in his mouth, slowly.

“Get me the shrimp trio platter thing. Just… all the shrimp.” He wondered if he’d get to see his entree. There was an invisible counter every time they set foot into a Red Lobster, and McCree never knew when it would run out.

“Very good sir, and… you?” There was a bit of reluctance as the omnic turned to Hanzo. Jesse snuck a glance over his shoulder and—yup. Soccer Mom was making angry gestures. He bit his lip to avoid a chuckle.

“When do I get to pick my lobster?” A bit of hair spilled out of Hanzo’s hastily tied-together topknot. McCree almost leaned over the table to tuck it behind the man’s ear.

ST3V-13 seemed to wilt a little. As much as an omnic could wilt, “Uh, you don’t?”

“I have been to many establishments where I get to pick the lobster I eat,” Hanzo crossed his arms, and gave his most imperious glare.

“Um, this isn’t that kind of restaurant, like, this is the Red Lobster? We’re not that fancy.” McCree lifted his brows. He wasn’t sure if it was logic processors or just an ill-matched personality matrix but he’d never encountered a waitomnic with such a lack of customer service skills. Then again, Hanzo’s hardened _yakuza_ stare was one of the most terrifying things on earth to behold when you were the target in his sights. _Guess it works on omnics too._

“But I can pick out a lobster I want at the grocery store.” Jesse could feel Hanzo’s foot tapping beside his boot. He wondered how much impatience Hanzo is feigning.

“Well, yes?”

"You are saying that your restaurant is less fancy than a grocery store.” Hanzo studied his nails, the perfect picture of boredom and entitlement.

“Uhh... “

“I need to speak with your manager.” The wan smile Hanzo gave the omnic, McCree suspected, would have rivaled anything Soccer Mom could offer.

“Let me see who is available for you sir.” The omnic let out a rush of air from hidden vents. McCree shook his head with a smile as the omnic left.

“You’re going to get it,” Soccer Mom, apparently, could no longer hold her tongue.

McCree rolled his head back lazily, and heaved out a sigh. “Ma’am, this don’t concern you. Just stay out of this.” He reached for his claw cozy again.

“Mom, seriously. Let the manager deal with it,” the woman’s eldest looked to be halfway between terrified and mortified.

“Smart girl, your daughter,” McCree flashed the teen a smile. The girl darted her eyes uncomfortable before practically touching her nose to the screen of her phone.

“Smarter, perhaps, than her mother,” Hanzo tipped his head with a wicked smirk, finishing the last of his lobsterita. Soccer Mom slammed her palm against the table and got to her feet again, speeding through the restaurant after ST3V-13. Hanzo chuckled and used his thumb to wipe a bit of salt from his lower lip.

“Babe,” Jesse met Hanzo’s eyes with urgency.

“Hm?”

“We forgot to get biscuits.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Hanzo’s tone was confident, but Jesse couldn’t help but feel a bit skeptical given that Hanzo was two margaritas in on an empty stomach. Hanzo was holding it together pretty well (while seated), but Jesse was smart enough to know he wasn’t the sole cause for the flush on Hanzo’s cheeks. He was already resigning himself to a biscuit-less future.

 _“There_ they are _,_ ” Soccer Mom was back, as was ST3V-13 and another omnic. This omnic was mostly humanoid, but ended in little repulsors below where the knees would be on an ambulatory model.

“Thank you ma’am. We’ll handle this. My apologies again.” ST3V-13 escorted Soccer Mom and her brood, evidently moving them to a new table.

McCree settled back in his chair.

“Apparently there is some confusion here gentlemen, is that correct?”

“I want to pick out my lobster, is that so hard to understand?” Hanzo turned in his seat to face the manager.

“Unfortunately that is a service we do not provide, but I can certainly forward your feedback to our corporate offices.” The manager—Angel.IO by their nametag— delivered this with perfect sincerity and warmth. “I will also say, gentlemen, a number of complaints have reached me regarding your conduct. Your shirt, sir, for instance, we would appreciate it if—”

“My shirt?” Hanzo blinked several times, feigning confusion.

“Don’t bring up the shirt,” McCree warned the manager, lifting his mule for another sip again.

“It has language some of our other patrons consider offensive. I see you have a jacket—”

“Oh, I see. Of course. My apologies. One moment,” Hanzo reached down and grabbed his hem with two hands. He ripped his shirt off over his head in one (impressive, given his inebriation) smooth motion and Jesse felt an even stronger urge to indulge in method number five. As Hanzo peeled the cotton away he revealed the nearly identical, uncensored version of his shirt. McCree dissolved into helpless chuckles and giggles.

“Told you. Shouldn’t have brought it up.” He continued laughing, and Hanzo joined in with his chuckles as the manager hovered in place, evidently speechless. The lights on the manger's chassis pulsed slowly.

“Sirs, please. There is no need for unpleasantness,” the manager stopped speaking as Hanzo cut in tartly.

“It is already unpleasant. I cannot look at my lobster before it is cooked! Are you _hiding_ something?” Hanzo shot up to his feet, a little unsteady for a moment. He took a couple steps towards the omnic. “Why may I not select a lobster from your stock?”

“Sir for health and safety reasons we cannot allow our patrons in the kitchen,” Angel.IO lowered the volume output on their speech synthesizers. A fine attempt at de-escalation as Jesse had ever seen.

“Then bring some lobster out here so that I may inspect them!” McCree suddenly realized how quiet the restaurant had become. The only sounds were faint noises carried up from the bar, which was out of sight and the radio through the speakers.

“Sir, I am going to need to ask you to leave,” as if an internal switch had been flipped, Angel.IO’s tone went stern and intractable.

“Ridiculous! It is a reasonable request—Do _not_ touch me,” Hanzo snarled as the omnic started crowding his space, shuffling a half step back.

“This conversation is over,” the manager said. “You will leave now.”

“Don’t touch me,” Hanzo warned again, turning to grab his jacket from the back of the chair, which clattered to the ground.

Jesse pushed himself up to his feet, “Alright, fine we’ll leave. Can we at least put in the rest of our order to go? I want some biscuits and the shrimp trio—”

Angel.IO clamped a hand on Hanzo’s upper arm, “You may settle your bill up front—” the rest of the statement was cut off as the manager went flying over Hanzo’s shoulder and into the table, cracking it in half and sending roughly half of McCree’s appetizer flying. Jesse barely managed to dive out of the way. He grabbed a shrimp that had landed on his shoulder and shoved it into his mouth quickly. The quiet was replaced by a sudden din of voices and moving feet.

“He tol’ you not to touch him, we were already goin’,” McCree scrambled for his hat.

“This is—OUT! We will be sending notice to corporate HQ! You will be banned from all Red Lobster premises for life!” The omnic was attempting to get their repulsors in order and extricate themselves from the wreckage of the table, and a surge of waitstaff and concerned onlookers were starting to crowd in. Jesse reached out to grab Han by the elbow and they rushed towards the door before cops could be called or they could talk about charges being pressed—which thankfully didn’t seem to be at the forefront of Angel.IO’s processors.

Hanzo was a little unsteady on his feet, but they managed to run out the doors, though Jesse did throw some money at the hostess on the way out which hopefully covered dinner and damages.

Hanzo leaned against a signpost at the edge of the sidewalk. Jesse stood protectively behind him, all his instincts telling him they needed to run, but there didn’t appear to be any pursuit—yet. When no one came out the doors after thirty seconds McCree decided that if anyone would come after them, it’d be the cops. Hopefully they had a couple minutes before they showed up, if at all. Maybe Hanzo’s cash was enough that they’d decided it wasn’t worth the hassle.

“C’mon.. Let’s move, across the street at least,” he reached out and wrapped his arm around Han’s shoulders and guided him across the street, hiding in the narrow alley between Ruby Tuesday’s and a long-since closed post office where they watched the entrance to the Red Lobster with baited breath. The next people to exit the building appeared to be patrons, rather than angry waitstaff. (Though they were talking rather excitedly on their phones.) Several minutes went by, and Jesse finally let out a sigh of relief. Cops would have shown up by now if they’d been called. _Musta been too much of a pain to deal with_ . _Maybe they really were hiding something in the kitchens._ He chuckled at the thought before going quiet. Another minute passed by.

“So. That was the last Red Lobster in town.” McCree sucked on his teeth thoughtfully, mourning all his uneaten shrimp. Part of him wanted to march back in there and demand the stupid cupholder from his overpriced drink back, just for the principle of the thing.

“It was,” Hanzo sounded incredibly smug, a beatific smile on his face as he stood across from the restaurant, staring at the entryway. He was steady enough on his feet for the moment that Jesse didn’t feel the need to prop the man up.

“So. This is your game. We gonna go back to the first one next time you wanna pull this stunt?” McCree lit up another cigarillo, now that they were outside and he could properly indulge in his vice.

“No,” Hanzo crossed his arms, still basking in satisfaction. McCree tilted his head and took in his lover’s appearance. Between the neon red and faint street lights Hanzo’s profile was nothing short of exquisite. He thought about snapping a picture, but the phone on his camera always ended up disappointing him. Jesse didn’t bother wasting the effort of trying to catch the man’s perfection.

“You _know_ they can’t really stop us, right?” McCree had never called Hanzo’s little charade out before, but they’d also never run out of Red Lobsters to descend upon either. Jesse didn’t wear his belt buckle because he hadn’t earned it. Wasn’t like any franchise restaurant would have a human or omnic capable of stopping them, if they had a mind to break their ban. Even if they really _did_ call corporate HQ. Hell, he and Hanzo could have snuck in undercover to any of the joints they were kicked out of before.

“No,” Hanzo shook his head slowly, and McCree was transfixed by the way the neon lights played off his bridge piercing. “That isn’t the point. We cannot go back, we were kicked out.”

McCree heaved a sigh. Usually he rolled with Hanzo’s chaos just fine, but he was a bit miffed that he wouldn’t be able to get those sweet cheddar biscuits anytime soon, and that he’d been kicked out before he could finish his shrimp. He hated going to US chains whenever he was dumped abroad, so they’d have to wait until they were sent elsewhere in the States before he could properly indulge again. The frozen biscuits from the grocery store just weren’t the same. “So what _is_ the point?”

Hanzo went still in a way that McCree hadn’t seen in a long time. Jesse was a sniper, however, and he’d learned patience from the best of the best. McCree held the cigarillo between his lips, neither inhaling nor exhaling, even when his lungs started burning for air.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“Once there was a time I could eat _fugu_ as often as I wished to flirt with death. I could walk into the most exclusive sushi restaurants without a reservation, and any _izakaya_ brave enough to dare try and refuse us service we would simply buy outright.” Hanzo chuckled softly, the sound of it full of sharkskin and steel, “I think I still have access to enough funds I could probably by every Red Lobster franchise in town, but here I am. Not good enough to darken their doorstep.” Hanzo smiled again, without teeth, and part of McCree ached that he’d never seen Hanzo prouder than this moment. _Oh darling… We gotta work on that._

Jesse studied Hanzo silently for a few minutes. He started a new box entitled _Later_ and tucked that thought inside. This particular _Later_ meant _Let’s Talk About This Shit Sometime, Maybe Over a Lime-a-Rita._ Maybe a few other thoughts could find their way from one _Later_ to the other.

Jesse moved his smoke to the corner of his mouth so he could speak again. “So what are you going to do now that we been kicked out of the last Red Lobster in town?” McCree shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging his coat a bit against the cool September evening.

Hanzo turned away from the double doors with the fire truck red crustacean decal that may as well have been the pearly gates, for all the chance either of them had at getting back inside.

“Isn’t it obvious Jesse? We move on to Joe’s Crab Shack.” He reached out and took Jesse by the hand, tugging it out of his jeans, “Come, the one on Third Street is still open.” McCree let out a chuckle as Hanzo brushed his lips over the back of his hand, but he willingly ducked his head against the chill autumn wind and followed Hanzo down the sidewalk, making their way through the evening crowds.

**Author's Note:**

> This could be canon-compliant. But probably isn't? I mean, it's not NOT canon compliant. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ As always let me know if you think I missed any relevant tags bc I am the worst at that kind of thing.
> 
> I have probably only set foot inside a Red Lobster once—if ever—in my entire life as two of my immediate family members are allergic to shellfish. One deathly so. I would say I’ve never been but I seem to have a vague memory of being in one like… well over a decade ago??? So maybe??? Anyways. I apologize if there are any misrepresentations of the type of sit-down restaurant Red Lobster is (i.e. if it has a bar or not) but this is the Red Lobster of the future. So all we know about Red Lobster could be incorrect by the year 207X.
> 
> Also I was wrong. I thought I had written the funniest line I’d ever write in my entire career in The Long Con. I was so wrong.
> 
> I also want to extend my apology to the McElroy family for associating their brand with this. I’m so sorry. Please pretend this didn’t happen.


End file.
